The Great Divide
by Spense
Summary: My take, certainly AU, on events immediately following episode 5.01.
1. Chapter 1

**THE GREAT DIVIDE**

**BY SPENSE**

**Note: Follows Supernatural 5.01. My AU take. Don't own, don't sue.**

The gulf between them after Dean finished speaking was practically sparking with unrelieved tension. The cold look on Dean's face, and his words echoing in the loud silence made the space between them a physical barrier. Sam opened his mouth to say something, (anything!), shut it, tried once more then gave up. What could he say? Dean was right.

Dean was right about everything. He had been all along. And Sam? Well, Sam had ended the world. Enough said.

Sam stared in heartbreak at his brother's cold face. The protector from his childhood ('Tell me who it was, Sam. I'll tear his lungs out!') was gone, replaced by a hunter. The phone message echoed in Sam's head once more, Dean telling him he was done with Sam, and that his brother was something to hunt.

As Sam just tried to take it in, Dean just shook his head sharply, and yanked open the car door and got in.

Sam gaped once more, grappling with the change. He couldn't handle it right now. He just couldn't. Before he realized what he was doing, he'd turned on his heel on the dark street, and walked hurriedly off down the street, away from Dean's accusatory look. Dimly, he heard the Impala start up and head off in the opposite direction.

Walking blindly, he moved through the dark streets until he was shaking so hard, he couldn't move anymore. Shaking, he leaned blankly against a wall, and slowly slid down it, burying his face in his hands. What had he done?

He'd ended the world. Not much to guess about that. And that was enough to tip the balance away from him with his brother. No more grace. No absolution. Nothing remained. No unconditional love. Sam had found the one thing that could break that relationship.

He laughed unsteadily. Talk about the condition that nobody else could fulfill. He laughed again, slightly tinged with hysteria.

Other hunters would hunt him now. He had become something to be eradicated. Dean would protect him, because he was his brother. Because he had to. Not because he believed in Sam's inherent goodness. Not anymore. Dean was an honorable man, and would be there for Sam, but he wouldn't trust him. Not ever again.

Sam couldn't stand that. It would be worse than Dean being in Hell, or dead. The depth of despair hit him like a physical blow once more.

Bobby had told him that he could come to him. But Bobby was seriously injured. He couldn't deal with the burden that was Sam right now, much less protect himself.

The angels? Well, they tolerated him just because he was Dean's brother. He'd received the sigil carved on his ribs because otherwise he'd lead the demons and angels straight to Dean.

Other hunters? Don't make him laugh. They'd kill him on sight.

Death would be an out, but where was he destined? No place but downstairs, that was for sure. After Dean's description (and just the remembered thought of Dean's sacrifice made him swallow hard) had convinced him that he didn't want to go there. Not like he'd have a choice, but he could put it off for awhile.

Lucifer? He could go to him, Sam supposed. Ruby was right, he'd get rewards. But essentially, deep down, Sam couldn't stomach that either.

He could keep hunting, and atone for his sins. But frankly, Sam was tired. And that left one option. Once he'd thought about, oddly enough, and considered. It was the one thing he could do for his brother that would actually leave Dean free to clean up his mess.

A memory of Dean standing there, silent, as Bobby had told Sam that he sickened him, and that he should lose his number, came to mind. Sure Bobby was possessed, but neither Dean nor Sam had realized it at the time. And Dean had stood there quietly, tacitly agreeing.

Well, that did it. That was the clincher. Sam could give his brother what he wanted. Dean could be free of his screw-up of a little brother. And talk about a screw-up. They didn't come much bigger than ending the world.

In many ways, the thought of giving his brother his freedom from Sam was freeing. He had a plan now. He'd take himself out of the equation and leave the fight to those capable of winning it, and not figuratively shooting themselves in foot by starting the apocalypse.

Taking a deep breath, Sam made the hardest call of his life – to Dean. And to his relief, Dean didn't pick up. At the beep, Sam left a brief message.

"Hey, Dean. I've been thinking about what you said, and you're right. No big surprise. You've been right all along. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry. I know I'm a monster, and I know I'm a liability as well as a danger. So I'm doing the only thing I know how to do to fix this. I'm taking myself out of play. I'm sorry to leave you to clean up my mess once again, but you and Cas will fix this, I'm sure of it. And it will be easier with me out of the way. Dean . . ." Sam's voice broke. "I am so sorry."

Disconnecting, Sam dropped the phone and ground it with his heel, looking at it with regret. No going back now. Removing his wallet and money clip, he looked at them both for a moment, then pulled the wad of cash from the clip. The cash he rammed back into his pocket, and the clip he dropped next to his ruined phone. Then purposefully, he began walking down the street, shredding and tossing the contents of his wallet into various dumpsters.

The emergency contact card, gone. Credit cards, gone. Pictures, a pause, then they went too. All the bits and pieces of his life that he'd saved, gone. Followed by the worn wallet itself.

Weapons followed shortly as well.

Now, anonymous, Sam shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, and walked purposefully down the dark street, away from the one 'home' he'd ever known, away from the fight, and to the one place he knew he could always tell the truth and be safe.

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

Sam swung his chair around and looked out the window at the rain and wind.

"Blowing today, isn't it?" a voice behind him said softly.

Sam swung back, shrugging. "It's been for awhile. It won't get better," he commented.

"Because the apocalypse has started?"

The middle aged woman looked at him seriously, inquiry in her eyes.

"Yup," Sam said, tapping on the walnut table in front of him.

"Why don't you tell me about it?" she asked quietly.

Sam shrugged. "I've told you. I broke the last seal by killing Lilith, and I've set Lucifer free." He looked up and met her kind eyes. "I'm a monster. You should just put me down."

"Oh, Sam," she sighed and took off her glasses. "We've been making such good progress, then you come back to that. You are not a monster. You are a very kind young man who is figuring himself out."

A tap on the door interrupted her. Startled, she looked at the clock. Looking at the in the glass window in the door, she nodded, then turned back to Sam.

"I'm sorry, Sam, I'm afraid our time is up. But I want you to think about what I've said. Look at the good in you. It just shines out of your soul. All the others love you, and feel safe with you. I want you to see yourself as they see you."

Sam looked at her kind eyes and smiled sadly. He shook his head with a little smile as he stood up. "Thanks, Dr. Wilson. I'll try, but it's kind of late for that. Too little, too late," he commented.

She looked at him thoughtfully as he walked to the door. The last had almost sounded like a quote. She continued to watch the door, even after it closed after the polite young man. Sighing, she turned back to her desk to finish her notes.

'Sam continues to stalwartly believe that he has brought about the end of the world. The life he's created in his head around 'hunting' and his brother and father, I believe mask the real abuse he has suffered. The physical records record the scars and breaks that appear to have been incurred since he was a child. The supposed rejection of him by his brother seems to be a rejection of himself and the real world.'

Lost in her writing, Dr. Angela Wilson, Chief of Psychiatry at the State Psychiatric Hospital, remained unaware of the growing storm outside her office whipping the trees into frenzy.

* * *

Sam sat in his usual spot on the window seat of resident's recreation room on the third floor of the old building. An open book on his lap, he looked out again at the raging storm. This was the fourth front in as many weeks. The news was talking about the storm season of the century. He snorted to himself. Little did they know.

"Sam?" a soft voice whispered.

Smiling, he turned to the speaker. "Hi, Alice," he said gently. "You okay?"

The small, mouse like woman looked through her thick plastic glasses at him fearfully. Alice was afraid of everything. She'd lived on the street for many years until she was finally admitted to the state hospital for significant mental problems. She was probably around 50, but looked much older.

She smiled nervously at him and shrugged.

"Are you afraid of the storm?" He said, gentler yet.

"Uh-huh. Will you protect me if they come?" She whispered.

"Of course, Alice. Just like always, you know that."

She looked relieved. "Thank you, Sam."

"Sure, Alice."

She softly scuttled off toward the easel where she liked to paint. He looked after her thoughtfully. She didn't know who 'they' were, she just knew something was wrong, with senses well developed from life on the street.

Sam looked thoughtfully around the day room. The room was full of patients. A mixture of mental illnesses, neurosis from abuse, and basically the forgotten. This was not a wealthy facility, if was full of the indigent and the neglected of society. The problems were many, and the place was woefully understaffed, but the patients were cared for and protected. Most were harmless. Usually confused and delusional. Those who weren't were not on this floor.

He had chosen this facility carefully. Once his research was done, and he knew where he wanted to go, well, the rest was easy. Walking up to the main desk and announcing that he was a ghost hunter and had started the apocalypse and that he needed to check out the building for hauntings and demons was really all it took. Next thing he knew, he was admitted and in therapy. He had a quiet room, lots of books to read, and if the company didn't always make a lot of sense when you spoke to them, it didn't really matter. He began to read up on mental diagnosis, and was beginning to recognize aliments.

And dammed if the therapy didn't actually help. Of course, they didn't believe a single word he was saying, not that he expected them too, but it did feel good to talk openly about everything. And if they thought he was just crazier because of it, then all the better.

Interestingly enough, the residents were drawn to him. They felt safe around him. He would have thought they would have been frightened by his size. 'Freakin' Sasquatch'. Sam flinched from his brother's voice in his mind. And that was one subject he never tried to think about.

The weeks sped by, and gradually Sam calmed. The pit of despair was still there, and the misery. But it was receding. He'd been right to come here. Somehow, being around those who were truly tormented by mental illness made him realize that he still had much to be thankful for. Tough to see when you were the one who set Lucifer free.

And just like he'd anticipated, the sigil Cas has carved in his ribs was working just fine. Of course, after the time he tripped, fell against the hall handrail and bruised his side, (before he figured out which meds to palm) those same sigils had caused some consternation among the x-ray techs. Sam just pled ignorance, and they chalked it up to the abuse they believed he'd suffered. The horrible abuse that had caused him to live in a frightening world of ghosts and demon hunters.

But the result was the same. No demons or angels or hunters bothered him here, one more crazy amongst the rest. And he was eternally grateful. He hid in plain sight, with peace and quiet and lots to read. All outside media was carefully screened and sanitized before the residents were allowed to see it, so nothing was shaking his carefully crafted, fragile sense of safety. Nothing like going to a nuthouse to try to protect what sanity you had left. Sometime he'd need to go out and atone for what he'd done, but not right now. Not yet. He just wanted to read and forget.

"Sam, time for your meds."

Sam turned to see a large male orderly handing him a cup of pills and some water. The man smiled as he handed them over. Sam had the reputation of being a gentle giant, but it didn't mean they weren't careful. Usually the biggest of the staff dealt with Sam. That was fine by him. Sam was under no illusions of what he could do.

He quickly took the pills. It had taken a while, but he'd managed to research what he was being given, and knew what he shouldn't be taking. Those he palmed expertly, and fed them to the plants when he had the chance.

"Need anymore books?" the man asked, as he reclaimed the cups.

"No, fine for now, Larry. Thanks."

"No problem, Sam. Just let me know. Half an hour more, and I'll take you back to your room." With a pat on his shoulder he was gone.

Nobody here was afraid of him. They were careful, and they should be. But they weren't afraid of him. Even if they did think he was nuts. But still, it was nice to talk about all he'd done, and have them just nod knowingly and sadly, then still treat him with kindness. It was a balm for Sam's soul. Slowly, he was healing. But he'd never trust himself again, and he knew it.

tbc


	3. Chapter 3

Winter had deepened, bringing snow and ice and cold. To Sam, it just seemed that the world was pausing. He could see on the news that the staff let him watch that the world was still waging war against hell, with the increasing disasters and weather phenomenon all over the world. He also knew it was best he was here.

Dr. Wilson's sessions had suddenly taken a turn towards his family. Sam thought it was odd, but didn't give it a lot of thought. Everything always seemed to come back to upbringing with the shrinks. He figured he'd bite, and see what she had to say. It ought to be interesting. He threw out the fact that his brother basically raised him. He also touched on the fact his father had been a military man, and loved him but was distant and obsessed with work. That Dean was the perfect son/perfect soldier and Sam was the black sheep and rebel. He talked about all the moving around and the fact that he had to fight to go to college.

Sam basically indulged her interest, but kept turning the talk back to the apocalypse. The crazier they thought he was the better. Although his upbringing could certainly have been considered something to make him crazy!

He was somewhat surprised at the turn, but he knew he was safe. He'd covered his tracks well, giving the hospital a false last name, and he'd had no ID on him. He'd also made sure he was far from anybody who knew him or of him. Besides, who would seriously break _into_ a mental hospital?

So when Dr. Wilson said, "I think you're ready for this now, Sam. I wasn't sure, but I think it's time," Sam tuned in, his antenna going up, so to speak. He looked at her directly, trying to read what she was saying. He'd been drifting along for so long, he'd let his guard down, and now something was pinging loudly that something was wrong. He stiffened. "What?" he asked suspiciously, coming to alert.

Senses upgraded now, he could see the changes. Larry was loitering outside the door, a vague shape in the window, clearly close by if needed. A security feed was on at the computer, monitoring the room.

Dr. Wilson noted the reactions with concern. This was not the Sam Addams that she knew. The easy going young man whom all liked and were comfortable around. This man looked like, well, the 'hunter' that he had called himself. Somebody dangerous and someone to be cautious of.

"Calm down, Sam," she said firmly. "You aren't in any danger. There is just somebody I'd like you to meet. Now relax."

Sam stood down. Short of a demon appearing, there wasn't much that could harm him here. He'd been careful in his choices and his actions. He was just borrowing trouble.

"Good. Now take a deep breath." She paused while Sam complied, clearly deliberately bringing himself under control. "And again." She waited once more. "Good." Once she was comfortable with his level of calm, she got up and walked to a door in the corner of the office.

The door opened to an adjoining office, Sam knew that. Dr. Wilson opened the door, and stepped aside, motioning with a smile for the occupant to step in. Sam's vision went white for a moment as Dean stepped into the room.

He looked just the same. Beat up leather jacket with the collar turned up, hands thrust deep in his pockets. The corner of his mouth quirked up at the sight of Sam, and his eyes were soft.

Sam blinked in shock, sure he was imagining this. There was no way Dean could be here.

"Hey ya, Sammy."

The voice was the same. It echoed deep inside Sam, resonating with his soul. A part of him felt 'right' and 'safe' the way nothing else could make him feel, followed hard by a depth of despair so deep he felt they might tear him apart. Yet all he could do was stare in shock.

Dr. Wilson knelt next to him, hand on his shoulder. "I've been speaking to your brother the last couple of weeks. He's been looking for you for some time. I'd like you to listen to what he has to say. Can you do that?"

Sam just stared at her with wide eyes. He finally pulled himself together enough to nod.

She smiled at him, and squeezed his shoulder gently. "Good. He's not going to hurt you. He's wanted to see you for quite awhile, but didn't know where you were. And once he contacted me, I wasn't sure you were ready. But you are now. Trust me."

Sam managed a nod again, watching her as she got up and moved to the door. She looked back at Dean inquiringly. He nodded back. Dr. Wilson smiled. "Larry will be right outside the door. Call him, or hit the panic button if you need any help."

Dean nodded again, and Dr. Wilson quietly stepped out and shut the door.

Dean watched the door for a moment, then turned to Sam and snorted in amusement. "Like I couldn't take you anytime, anywhere."

Sam just stared in disbelief. He just couldn't get his brain wrapped around the fact that Dean was really here, pulling out the chair and sitting down in front of him. It was such a change from their last encounter that all Sam could do was blink in shock.

"Christo," Sam finally managed to sputter.

Dean just raised his eyebrows. "Dude, seriously?"

Sam snorted in spite of himself. "Who are you, and what did you do with my brother?" He asked, half serious, half following the old line.

"Bitch," Dean muttered, shaking his head.

"Jerk," Sam automatically countered, still in a obvious state of disbelief. "How . . . how did you find me?" Then he mentally kicked himself for such an inane comment. He had a second chance with his brother, apparently, and all he could ask was the obvious.

Dean's eyes narrowed, flashed quickly at the computer confirming Sam's suspicion about surveillance. Once Dean was sure Sam got the message, he quipped, "I'm a 'hunter', remember?" Then for the benefit of the listening audience, he added, "Where did your freaky subconscious come up with that? Ghosts, dude?" In other words, _You have some explaining to do, bro._

Sam nodded. _I know. "_But Dean, they're real! The demons are real. I had to get away, keep you safe."

Dean lifted his chin, looking at his brother thoughtfully. "Sammy, I was fine. We weren't in any danger." _Any more than usual, that is._

Sam glared at him. "Come on. All the crap coming down on us? Gunning for me?"

Deam just sighed patiently. "You were safe with me."

No double meaning there, Sam thought wryly as he lifted an eyebrow at his brother. _Lucifer? Angels? Hunters all gunning for me? Right._ "I was safe, but you weren't." _I was a liability._

Dean sighed, clearly disagreeing. "What the hell did you think you were doing, taking off like that? I got your message. Scared the hell out of me. I kept waiting for you to walk into the hotel room."

Sam was shaking his head before his brother had even finished speaking. "You wanted me gone. You were so mad. You didn't . . . don't trust me."

"Sammy, yeah, I was angry. Still am when I think about it. And no, I didn't trust you, and frankly, I still don't. You'd made some pretty crap decisions."

Sam's heart hit the floor with those words. Nothing had changed. Nothing at all.

But Dean was continuing. "But don't you think that maybe that made me want to keep you closer? Not further away? You'd gone section 8," Dean's eyes twinkled mischievously at that comment for the benefit of the listeners, then turned serious once again, "I wanted you where I could see you," Dean finished quietly. "Not vanished into thin air. I needed a little space, but hours, dude, not months."

Sam looked sadly at his brother. "I screwed up again, didn't I?" He closed his eyes in misery. _Shit._ Opening them again, he looked at Dean.

Dean shrugged. "Could be. Maybe not. You do look better than the last time I saw you. This place looks like it's done you some good."

Sam looked narrowly at his brother, waiting for the punch line, but Dean seemed serious.

"You look rested, Sammy. Relaxed. Like I haven't seen you look in a really long time. Are you sleeping?"

Sam nodded roboticaly. His head was spinning, and he had a lot to try to resolve, and he wasn't sure he could do it right now. He put a hand to his head, trying unconsciously to ease the headache that was beginning to pound.

Right on cue, Dr. Wilson knocked and entered the room. "I think that's enough for today," she said smiling at Sam and Dean. "Dean, wait here. I'll have Larry take Sam to his room."

"What? Wait . . . No!" Sam looked at Dean in near panic.

"Relax Sammy, I'll be here tomorrow, right Doc?" Dean said, self-assuredly, looking at Dr. Wilson for confirmation.

Sam's swiveled his gaze to her, slightly panicked.

"Of course. Sam, Dean will be here everyday until you're ready to be discharged into his care. Alright?"

Sam nodded, then looked at Dean. _Break me out tonight?_

Dean just ignored him, looking at Dr. Wilson. "Same time tomorrow?" And at her nod, he looked back at his brother. "See you then, Sammy."

Sam narrowed his eyes. _Tonight._

"Tomorrow, Sammy." He turned to Dr. Wilson, as Larry urged Sam to his feet, "Oh, and he's got a hell of a headache brewing. Can you get him something for that?"

Dr. Wilson looked surprised for a second, then narrowed her eyes at Sam. After a moment, she gave a sharp nod. "Yes, I think so. Larry?"

"I'll see to it." And with that, Sam found himself on his feet and out of the room, with a last view of Dean sitting down once again at the table and beginning a discussion with Dr. Wilson.

Clearly Sam wasn't going to be busted out. It looked like Dean was going to do this the _normal_ way, and get him discharged, making sure he was okay. Who would have figured that, after their last talk. And through irritation flooded him as Larry got him the medication for the now pounding headache, and put him to bed, Sam felt relief. And as he dropped off to sleep, all he could think about was the miracle that had just happened.

His brother had been looking for him. He still cared enough about him to make sure he was okay, that he was ready to be discharged (regardless of the fact that he'd admitted himself!), and that he wasn't giving up on Sam. A lot was still to be worked out, but apparently love could be unconditional after all.


	4. Chapter 4

"Ha! Your ass is so mine," Dean chortled as he reved up the engine to the Impala.

"Laugh it up," Sam said dryly, settling comfortably into the front seat. It felt like he'd never been gone.

"Hey, the doc did say that they were releasing you to my care. That they didn't feel you were dangerous, just that you needed continued therapy to work out your 'dillusions', and they felt that I could safely handle your 'issues'." Dean grinned. "Not like I haven't been doing that since day 1," he groused. But the grin was still plastered on his face was a dead giveaway. It was still there as he turned to back out of the snowy parking spot.

Sam had to admit the reality of that. "But I still say it would have been easier to break me out than go through all this."

"Dude, did you have a plan for getting out when you got in? It ain't that easy."

"Come on, Dean. An orderly's uniform, a stolen ID? Please."

Dean looked at him thoughtfully, then shook his head dismissively. "Nope, they'd notice a sasquatch anywhere. You'd never make it. And besides, what's with you and the costumes again?"

Sam just rolled his eyes and looked back at the retreating building. He'd never win with Dean, especially with him as gleeful as he clearly was today. A part of Sam was warmed to the core by the obvious delight (in his own way) his brother was showing at Sam's return.

"And dude. 'Sam Addams'? Couldn't you at least have picked a decent beer? Like, maybe, Sam Corona? I had to go in there being Dean Addams. How wussy is that?"

Sam laughed in spite of himself. He had really missed Dean. Time had blunted the sharp edges of the guilt and knowledge of all he'd done, but the problems were still there, lurking. But he felt like maybe he could actually face them now, especially since it didn't appear he'd being doing it alone. And it looked as though his brother wasn't feeling so raw either.

"I meant what I said, Sammy," Dean said seriously.

Sam turned in surprise at the change in tone. They were now rolling down the highway. Sam had apparently been musing for sometime. He raised his eyebrows in question.

"Trust is an issue, and will need to be earned. But it isn't like I don't need to earn your trust back either. We can do this." He turned and looked at Sam. "Right?"

Sam nodded firmly. "Right." He truly believed that now. After a week of talking to Dean in the controlled environment of the hospital had proven that to him. It would be good to talk openly again, but he'd learned enough even through the double speak. And actions spoke louder than words. Even though Sam had admitted himself to the hospital, Dean was concerned enough about him to use Dr. Wilson's knowledge and the hospital itself to asertain for himself that Sam was truly ready to re-enter the fight instead of just busting him out. Frankly, it wouldn't have been that hard to get out, no matter what Dean said. Only a Winchester would do that. How screwed up was that?

"Oh, I have something for you."

Sam turned as Dean fished something out of his back pocket and tossed it onto Sam's lap without looking away from the road.

Looking down in shock, Sam saw his wallet. With shaking fingers, he opened it, and saw his engraved money clip, id and emergency cards, and the pictures he'd discarded.

"Weapons are in the trunk."

Sam looked at his brother's profile in amazement. Dean had literally followed his footsteps, miticulously picking up the tiny pieces of his life. putting them back together and holding them until Sam was ready to take them back. Even as angry and disappointed in him as Dean had been at that moment. Sam didn't need the months he'd just spent emersed in psychology to tell him the symbolism of that.

"It's no big deal, Sam," Dean said defensively, still not looking away from the road.

Sam knew better. 'Thanks, Dean," he said quietly, putting all the emotion he could into those two words. Relief, graditude, and all the rest.

A tick in Dean's cheek was all Sam needed to see. _Message received_.

Quiet reigned for a few moments before Dean spoke with studied casualness. "Cas said to head north after I picked you up. We're supposed to meet up with Ellen and Bobby."

Sam looked at him in surprise. "Cas knows you were picking me up?"

Dean snorted and looked sideways at him. "Dude. Angel?"

Sam huffed in amusement. "Right. Well, north it is."

Rooting for the maps, Sam knew they were heading immediately back to the fight. Trust was still an issue, as was the phone message Dean had left. But they both had said things they didn't mean, and done some pretty terrible things. But they were brothers, and they were stronger together than apart.

So, the apoclypse? Bring it.

_~Finis~_


End file.
